I can't write a word
Or even pickup a pen
I wish I had hands

Retreading the same creative subjects
Rebedding headaches
                                  Pedalo
Some discomfort
Clung all over
          with a fungal dampness
          And moored with a heavy sleep-like coat
Worthy of nothing
Nothing worthy of note
Pages

Consumed by rehearse
I've lost the thirst to broadcast
Cowardly in delay
Relaying what's past
..... a Recurrent distress

I stand sudden :
Done !
I derail the trolley-lot ...

Then I fit
In a mirthquake
         I laugh like i am made of bellies
'The Bellycake', I'll call me.

With my serious anchorous state nulled
I approach fresh work with good humour

There is power in the voice
The words that are spoken ever so softly
Finding meaning and purpose is conveyed through her poetry
Her mind full of chaos she just begins writing
Pages and pages start flowing, as the words just keep coming
Her art becomes a confronting and meaningful piece
Shared to others who need help finding connectedness and peace
A talent she holds close to her heart
Feeling greatful she has the ability to share life through all of her poetic art.

is there a way out of here other than the sudden violence of tearing through my skin? if i  find an escape route one day, i swear to god, i would leave even the calmest sunsets behind.

Creativity is grieved over.
When it leaves, your nostalgia blossoms
An old friend that you lost before its time
You weep at its funeral
Your tears burn your cheeks
With desires of what could have been.
Perhaps it died in a car accident
A violent, fiery wreck of destruction
Maybe it died in its sleep
You never did get a chance to say goodbye
Or you could have lost it in time
Watched it wither away
Like the memories you used to hold so dear.
Crying yourself to sleep, you yearn for your creativity.

The beauty, or perhaps the horror of this death
Lies in the fact that it could return.
After bargaining with Death
Death will return your creativity to you
Like some undead zombie
Or like the second coming of some benevolent angel.
And you will welcome creativity with open arms
You will hug it close, and promise that you will watch it closely.
You will assure it that you won't let it slip through your grasp.
You pick up that pen, stroke those keys
And let your friend spill out all over the pages.
But just as with people, the death of creativity is inevitable
And before long, it will leave you bleeding yet again
Only to return to you as though it never left.

Hello, and welcome to writers FM!
Today I've got loads of gossip for you but first let's check out this new love song by "angelicface".

Story of my love that I could never explain

Rise and shine of words that no one could hear

One day a man from the heaven came
He hold my hands
Knelt down on his knees
Fixed his eyes deep into my gloomy eyes
Our souls got intertwined
He asked humbly, "will you mind if I make you the owner of my heart, life of my love, princess of my feelings and queen of my heaven?"

He asked modestly,
"Will you be my shelter
Will you be my home
Will you be my refuge
Will you be my soul?"


I replied, "I have overcome every obstacle
And dive down into oceans
Just to be with you
Because I belong to you
You are the ultimate reason why I got this life."

The grip of his hands was getting stronger
Tears were rolling down his cheeks
And heart was throbbing in a rhythm

He asked one more time,
"Will you be my shelter
Will you be my home
Will you be my refuge
Will you be my soul?"

I cried and smiled but I replied,
"How to say that I'm all alone
Sky full of magic, earth of stone
I shattered like crystals, heart to soul
Come on, take me home."

He blushed and smiled, stood up and embraced me in between his arms

And at that moment I realized
That soul companions do exist in this world ❤️❤️
©angelicface